


Your Assistant is...Competent

by notaparty



Series: Something in the Water [2]
Category: Batgirl (Comics)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 04:58:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notaparty/pseuds/notaparty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the first chapter of my other fic, Something in the Water. Damian and Nell's first meeting (as adults) from Damian's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Assistant is...Competent

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing in Damian's POV, so I'm a little worried about how he comes across, especially considering the time jump? Also I'm going to be doing more of these from Nell's POV as I add more to Something in the Water.

Stephanie had had multiple assistants in the years she’d worked at the Youth Center—whether that was from burnout from being around hundreds of screaming children for days on end or just the job itself, I wasn’t sure—but few of them were anything more than grating to me. The Wayne name had a lot of benefits, but it also had the drawback of people fawning over me like I was some sort of zoo animal. 

It never ceased to amaze me how many people cared about what the wealthy did. My photo filled the society pages and what was I doing? Standing around in a tuxedo. Standing on a stage. Standing next to the mayor. I was even photographed by the paparazzi walking my damn dogs and it managed to make the front page of the society section’s online edition. Grayson said it was a way for them to relate to us, seeing that they would never, ever have a life like ours, but for people who wanted to relate to me so badly, they acted like I was a fucking demigod who couldn’t get close to. And those who tried to play it cool were usually so terrible at it that I felt uncomfortable anyway. 

Except for with her. She smiled politely and asked me if I needed help the way I’d heard other people get asked. No wide-eyed stare, no blatantly checking me out.

“I’m here to see Stephanie Br—Stephanie Drake-Wayne.” The name change was a pain in the ass to remember after calling her Brown all these years, but seeing the hurt look in her eyes when I slipped wasn’t worth it.

“Okay. Give me a second to check her schedule, the computers are kind of slow.” She clicked around for a few moments. The more I looked at her, the lovelier she became. Lovely, not hot. The way her curly hair was pulled back only highlighted the almost doll-like shape of her face, her cheekbones high. Her eyes were incredibly dark and held an intelligence that all of Stephanie’s previous assistants definitely didn’t have. And then there were her full lips, which she kept catching between her teeth. She was like the girls I dreamed of doing live sketches of and could never really find. “Your name?”

I had to admit I deflated a bit. So she didn’t know who I was at all. It seemed like anyone connected to any Wayne Foundation related organization knew who I was, but apparently I was mistaken. Rather than bring that up, I said, “Damian Wayne.” 

She nodded. “I knew that, but it’s just a habit to ask. Let me let her know that you’re here.” She stood, and she was much taller than I expected—she had to be around six feet—and…well, my assessment of her loveliness quickly shifted. Long, leanly muscled legs. Curvy in the hips. An ass that looked great even in the badly structured uniform shorts she had on. Her graceful, but purposeful walk suggested that she was an athlete, not just a girl who worked out a lot. She leaned into Stephanie’s office, one hand on the frame to keep her balanced while one foot trailed up the opposite leg’s calf. 

I made a few more mental notes for my sketches. 

“She’ll see you now.” She smiled at me again, slipping a walkie-talkie onto her belt loop, exposing a bit of smooth brown skin.

“Thank you, Miss…” I smiled back at her. Grayson had said I could make women throw their underwear at me with a smile during one of his many safe sex speeches, and now I was hoping that was true. My watch suddenly felt too tight and my wrist too sweaty. Then my shirt felt too restrictive and I wanted to rake my hands through my hair. I usually didn’t have to try, so I usually didn’t have anything to lose. I stuffed my hands into my pockets in the hopes that I would appear calm.

“N-Nell. Just Nell, no ‘Miss.’” She tried to sit back in her seat and almost missed it, but she just laughed it off. Either the smile worked or she was just clumsy. I hoped it was the former. “She’s ready for you.”

I thanked her again and went to see Stephanie, who was slumped in her office chair looking somewhat exhausted. I watched Nell through the closing door, and at the last second she looked up at me with a shy grin. She had a dimple in her left cheek.

“Your new assistant is…competent,” I said, the door closing all the way.


End file.
